Chapter 23
by StoriesForMuggles
Summary: ok so this is a series of drabbles set just after the Battle of Hogwarts, all canon pairings, told from many characters perspectives as it goes on, chapter one is just the trio. Also, in case you were wondering, it's called Chapter 23 because there's 22 before the epilogue in DH. My first fic so be gentle. Rated T for later chapters. Other genres: Friendship and family
1. Trio

**A/N: ok so this is a series of drabbles set just after the Battle of Hogwarts, all canon pairings, told from many characters perspectives as it goes on, this one is just the trio. They're quite short in this first one and some may be longer, or some may not be, just going with the creative juices y'know. My first published works on here, please be kind, or in the least, forgive my amature-ness... (oh and in case you haven't guessed, it's called Chapter 23 because there's 22 chapter's before the epilogue in DH, original I know, paha)**

**Chapter 23.**

The sun was now climbing the stairs into Gryffindor tower. It leaked through one of the many holes blasted in the castle walls during the battle of Hogwarts, bathing the place in gold. Hermione stared at it as she walked, quietly wondering if it would make wizarding history; the final fall of the infamous Lord Voldemort. Surely it would. She strangely realised that she would be part of that history, and didn't much like the idea of someone else writing their account of it (hadn't she learnt anything from her experiences with Rita Skeeter?). Maybe she would write it. She _could_ write it, she thought, after all he was dead and her life free, her future out there waiting. What would she accomplish? Where would she live? Who would she be? She looked at Ron beside her and smiled. _I wonder._

_._

Harry said 'goodnight' at the foot of the boy's dormitories, willing his four poster bed with its red velvet hangings to be intact. It took him what felt like an age to reach the top step, feeling as though he was an old man who had seen much more that should be humanly possible in his short life. Thankfully, Gryffindor tower seemed to have escaped the majority of the mayhem that had occurred earlier and his bed, if not a little dusty, looked completely untouched; he could have just arrived off the Hogwarts Express after another boring summer at the Dursley's. He laid down thinking that he would have to call Kreature for that sandwich, but the moment his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

.

It was too early to smile, but his heart knew that this was the only place he wanted to be – lying silently on the common room sofa, one hand twisting Hermione's hair, blissfully tricking himself into believing that the last year had not happened. He erased it from his mind: Fred, the battle, Gringotts, Dobby, Malfoy Manor, the snatchers, the horcruxes, leaving her... Ron knew that it wouldn't last long, knew that terrible reality would creep back up on him at any moment, but he needed this time just to be, to physically _be_ without feeling as though his chest had burst into a thousand pieces; and being there with her, well, it worked.


	2. George

**A/N Ok so this one is George's in case you haven't guess already. Bit more angsty than the last, enjoy.**

The sun shone brightly through the stained glass windows that surrounded the entrance hall that day. A lanky young man with shocking red hair stood on the marble staircase and gazed out at the scene before him. Families reunited, volunteers clearing debris and rubble, and a group of St Mungo's healers ready for the preparation of moving the bodies of the great Battle of Hogwart's victims. George hadn't meant to be there. He'd kept himself as busy as possible in the last 19 hours since the majority of families had disbursed from the scene of Lord Voldemort's downfall. But there's only so much tea you can make, and only so much lack of sleep you can have before an agitated Madam Pomfrey will bustle you out of the hospital wing with the threat of a week's bed rest under her personal supervision.

So George had not meant to be there, watching, as so many faceless blankets were carried though the newly repaired great oak doors. Which one was he? The thought came before he could stop it. His eyes burned unwillingly. He might have run to the healers then, but for a hand that gently touched his shoulder at that precise moment. It was his father, closely followed by his mother and sister. They came down the stairs half way to where George was standing. A moment later Bill, Charlie, Ron and Percy emerged from the great hall. They came to him, standing wordlessly beside him in a group, watching the torturing task the healers were now carrying out. They knew. Knew he could not look away. So they watched too, together. George always teased his family, but in this moment, he knew it would never be the same, always a gap, but he would never be alone.


End file.
